The Kids Aren't Alright
by Shizuo Thundering
Summary: This story contains SPOILERS for the Izaya Sunset novel. "Heiwajima Shizuo..."  His name rolled on his tongue like dark bitter chocolate...


Title: "The Kids Aren't Alright."

Pairing: None. Or shizaya if you squint really really really hard?

Disclaimer: I own none of these characters.

Note: This story contains SPOILERS. It is not proofread yet. Keep in mind my English is not perfect and I would be grateful if anyone pointed out my mistakes so I can improve my writing.  
Also, I really can't Izaya anymore. Don't hit me. Just enjoy reading. Or cry. I don't know. Do what you prefer- /

Shizuo held his breath, stopping short in his tracks when he caught sight of the once-high standing, powerful informant, sitting in that wheelchair, looking so pathetic, on the other side of the street.  
It was... a pretty shocking sight, for him. Hard to believe, at first. Had he not been there when it happened, seen the information broker's original injuries; and then, subsequently... seen him in his wheelchair... He would not have been able to believe what he was looking at.

But he had to; he knew that the other was wounded beyond repair.

Seeing Izaya unable to walk... However, was a lot more of a reality that he had been prepared for. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting... But not that.

Not something so life altering; so hard to bear for the individual having to go through it.

It dawned upon him how he had ruined yet another life.

His work had lead him out of Ikebukuro. A 'client' of them had not paid their debts and had fled to the major administrative center of Tokyo: Shinjuku. Yet, the bleached blond male had been far from expecting this scene.

Shizuo really did not know what to think of all of this. He knew he hated Izaya. Absolutely fucking HATED HIM. With passion. Just... loathed him to the point it controlled his mind when he was seeing him. And yet... When he looked at Izaya like this... He felt guilty. As if a sudden anchor was chaining him to the ground. Forcing him to watch. Witness what he had done.

He couldn't explain it. He didn't /want/ to. But this was his fault.

He'd ruined him. Taken everything away from this man. Izaya was exposed to the world. Shizuo had dethroned God and cut off his wings. He was exposed. Defenseless. He wasn't bulletproof after all. The man in this wheelchain... He was wounded and broken. He'd lost. His deck of cards were worthless. There were no more other pieces on the chessboard. Nothing to protect the King from the opposing side. There was nothing he could do. He had no chance. He knew that. Shizuo could see it. He could just tip the King over and give it all up.

No.

Such a thing had already happened. He had overthrown him. Ejected him from his cathedra.

That was when it struck him. He was looking his way. Shizuo was stricken into silence.

Izaya's face had frozen in a glassy stare of badly contained horror. Even from this distance, he could see a ghastly whiteness spread over his face. Few words were spoken to the man pushing his wheelchair.

Then, it was as if nobody had ever been there.

Shizuo tilted his head slightly to eye the sky. His mocha eyes were half lidded, and served as telltale glass windows to the burbling feelings he could not help but withhold inside of himself.

What had he done?

The man who always came back for more no longer existed.

* * *

If people wondered about the reason of that sudden pitiful state ? No. No one ever did. Everyone knew. There were no suppositions. There were no rumors. Only hard, cold and true facts. Everyone knew the infamous Orihara of Shinjuku had been taken down, pushed off from his throne by Ikebukuro's God of Destruction. Really, it was quite surprising that no one had taken advantage of his temporary (was it, really?) weakness to finish him off (and succeed in doing so.) He was still expecting someone to do such in his sleep.

But no one really knew. How hateful yet how resigned he was.

… How scared he was.

Inside of that pitiful and broken shell were not even burning the flames of anger and revenge. He had acknowledged it already. They were not on the same pedestal anymore. They never were in the first place. And yet, he couldn't even feel chagrined at the irony of it all. After all, he had always thought he was above him.

"Heiwajima Shizuo..."

His name rolled on his tongue like dark bitter chocolate.

Izaya's slender shoulders dropped momentarily as he took a hot second to relinquish his rage, and steadily unclench his fists. His knuckles had turned white at the exertion.

A pang of acute soreness shot up his spine. Millions of hands were squeezing his flesh. Devouring him slowly. Leaving him in gnawing pain. His muscles were straining against the frame of his skin as if living insects were crawling in his blood as he sat up. The pain his arms were putting him in was far greater than what he would have ever imagined.

But this was nothing compared to the unendurable despondency he sometimes was in.

His earlier reaction toward the ex-bartender... Fear. Discomposure. Trepidation too. Years ago, he would have rambled about the diversity of Human's reactions upon encoutering something different. A monster. A machine. Or perhaps another human. Something mighter than what Humans could ever be.

A desire to be like them.

Desire which would turn into resentment.

Or fear.

Frustration as they remained powerless and unable to surpass them.

But his reaction... Oh, his reaction! It only reminded him of how fragile he was. How Human he really was. Foot step after footstep could be heard downstairs, and Izaya glanced to the door, expecting to see the old man's slender frame in the light.

The lingering fear to see someone he did not know always rested at the back of his mind. Nagging him. Yet, in his vast experience of pain, Izaya could tell that nothing could hurt as much as Shizuo.

All of this was unlike him. So unlike him he sometimes felt the urge to laugh at it.

"Do you happen to need help to walk?"

The sudden voice almost startled him yet a smirk appeared on his lips. An unspoken 'I will be fine' of some sort. He could walk. Jumping, running, escaping, all this was refused to him however. Forever and ever.


End file.
